


Drunken Lust

by Mynt



Series: Someday All This Pain Will be Useful to You [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:38:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynt/pseuds/Mynt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds Puck needing help. Naturally, he helps. But can he keep his smouldering feelings under control? Not when Puck keeps provoking them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drunken Lust

**Author's Note:**

> If you seen this before, just know that it is now being heavily edited. The only way to find the edited version is here - I hope you enjoy!

It was a Saturday, and Sam was driving down town at eleven. He had anticipated this night for quite some time: the copy of _Avatar: Special Edition Actors Cut_ was going to begin sale at midnight. He was going to start queuing early, scared the copies would be sold out. Not that many people made buying DVD’s a priority on a Saturday night, but whatever. Better safe than sorry. He had practised his Na’vi so his words were fluent and grammatically correct – something he could never do with his Spanish classes, even if he had wanted to.

The traffic lights shone red and Sam slowed to a stop at the intersection. Drumming his fingers impatiently on his steering wheel, his wandering eyes lingered to the park adjacent to the road. He did a double take when he registered a still figure, nearly camouflaged by the unkempt grass. The dim light of the moon did no favours, but he could make out the unique hairstyle of the face down person: a levelled mohawk. And he had only ever seen one person in Lima who sported one.

He wanted to ignore the image and just stick to his goal, but he would be crushed with guilt if he ever found out it was Puck, and just let him lie unconscious on the street. In the end, Sam’s conscience won out, and when the traffic lights shined green Sam hurriedly pulled his car over. He launched out his vehicle and knelt beside the figure. With shaking hands he rolled the man onto his back, fully prepared to bolt if it was just some shaved homeless man. But sure enough, it was Puck. However, that wasn’t relief. It was the exact opposite. He may have looked like he was just dozing off in a drunken stupor before, but now that Sam had a clearer view he knew Puck was in a much worse state. His face was bruised and battered. His nose was crooked slightly, and some blood had crusted around his nostrils. How long had he been there? His bottom lip was cut, and Sam was certain if he smiled some of his teeth would be missing. On top of that, one of his eyes was black and he smelt strongly of sweat and alcohol. The only thing that mitigated Sam’s fear was the slow rise and fall of Puck’s chest.

_He’s still breathing._ Sam let out a shaky sign, liberating his fears of finding his friend’s dead body. But by looks of it Puck was dangerously injured. Sam was no doctor – hopefully a human could withstand such injuries without dying? Sam steeled his reserve, disarming negative thoughts, defiant to help Puck make a full recovery.

“Puck?” Sam shook the unconscious teen’s arm gently, trying not to scare him. He shook harder when he was met with no response, and a snore escaped Puck’s lips. Sam’s eyes lit up as Puck lazily rubbed his eye with one hand.

“Wha-?” Was all Puck could manage before choking on the bile and blood in the back of his throat. Sam helped him to sit upright, and a few blood ridden coughs later Puck was conscious, but barely. His eyes fluttered intermittently, and his breathing was loud and slightly wheezy. Yet, Sam was thankful that all of his teeth were still in his mouth.

 “Where... wher’m I?” Puck slurred. His voice was that of an innocent child, and Sam couldn’t repress his smile, even with the accent of alcohol. “Why’re you here?” He raised his eyes to Sam’s. The blonde had never noticed how shiny Puck’s eye were – brimming with hopeful curiosity, twinkling subtly in the moonlight.

“I was going to get Avatar but I found you here,” Sam revealed mechanically. He mentally kicked himself, but Puck didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to like it.

“That’s cute!” He drawled, ending on a high note. His expression grew hazy and his head tilted slightly while still maintaining eye contact with his saviour. He bit his lip amorously before hiccupping. Sam blinked. Puck was so out of it. _He must be a flirty drunk._

“Come on – we need to get you to a hospital or something. I seriously though you were dead.” Sam said, grabbing Puck’s hand to help him off the ground. Instead, Puck looked at it in horror, as if it would lead him straight into the depths of hell.

“No. No hospital,” he groaned weakly in protest, beginning to crabwalk away from Sam. He moved quickly, fear fuelling his speed, before his eyes rolled back and his limbs gave way to his weight. He sprawled in defeat, still mumbling protests.

“You sure can move for a drunk,” Sam said lightly, amused. He walked over to his friend and heaved him off the ground, dusting him off. Puck’s legs buckled, catching Sam by surprise. The blonde had to drag the bemused drunk to the passenger side of his vehicle, trying his best to shove him into the car without adding to his injuries. He buckled Puck’s seatbelt and trudged to the driver’s side. He was surprised at his lack of annoyance at missing the Avatar sale, but it seemed insignificant compared to Puck and his health. He wasn’t even thinking about Avatar (which was very unusual); he just wanted Puck to be safe.

After double checking Puck was still safely in his seat, Sam started the engine. The sound triggered Puck, jolting him into a state of panic.

“No hospital. Can’t,” he pleaded, desperately tugging at the door handle. He was too drunk to notice the lock just inches from his hand, but Sam had no reason to point it out to him. The fact that it stayed shut made him whimper. _Whimper._ “Please, no hospital!” He was begging now, slumping against the door, trying to use all his weight to break it open. That childish tone from the drinking gave Sam mixed feelings of guilt and sympathy. With a loud sigh, Sam acquiesced.

“Fine,” he said, making Puck cheer. He hit his head on the ceiling but still retained his enthusiasm. “But I’m taking you home. You could have a serious concussion or something.” Now the joy was gone. “Okay, okay,” Sam yielded again, not even bothering to argue. “I’ll take you somewhere else.” He pressed down on the gas pedal with more power than necessary, speeding down the street.

Puck clutched the hand rest, the shining streetlights making him dizzy. “Ugghh,” he moaned. “I fink I’m gon’ - urpp”

“Out the window!” Sam instructed, hastily pressing the window switch. Puck squeezed his head out the window before it was half open, vomiting onto the street. Sam blanched at the familiar sound, gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Puck kept his head out the window for a moment, enjoying how the cool night air viciously caressed his face.

“Ah, dat’s better,” he said thickly, returning his full person inside the vehicle.

The foul stench of Puck’s vomit-scented breath nearly made Sam retch. He fished for a water bottle in the glove box, throwing it in Puck’s lap. “Drink this,” he ordered.

Puck accepted it with a large, open-mouthed smile, as if it was a token of affection. He brought the bottle to his lips and began to gargle the water, giggling at the sound. He spat it out the window before he started to choke, loudly burping to cease his bodily functions. The giggles still threatened to emerge, though, and he plastered a hand over his mouth to try and cease them.

Sam tried to distract Puck with a question that had been on the tip of his tongue since their encounter. He hadn’t asked it yet, since Puck’s health was more of a priority than frilly gossip, but now with only the humming of the engine it seemed fine to reveal it.

“How did you end up in the park?” He tried to ask it casually, but his desire for an answer was dotted through his words. Maybe not enough to be perceived through Puck’s inebriation, though. At least Sam hoped not.

“Found _-hic-_ some of m’ juvie buds. ‘N’ we fought _-hic-,_ ” Puck explained through hiccups. He paused, ruminating briefly. “’N’ I fink I lost.”

“That sucks.” Sam grunted sympathetically. “Then why were you drunk?”

Puck’s response was a deadpan. “Because it’s a Sat’day night.”

Sam can’t think of a reply, but doesn’t need to. He brings his car to a stop and pulls on the handbrake. “We’re here,” he announced.

Puck took one look out the window and began sulk miserably. “You lied.” He crossed his arms in a wounded expression. His voice broke with frustration as he tried to not wail. “’M not getting out.”

“Hey, come on,” Sam soothed, patting Puck’s thigh. “It’s not so bad; it’s just your house.” To the ‘bad’ he was referring to, Sam did not know. But Puck wasn’t paying that much instead, instead placing his hand over Sam’s, and drawing it back to its place on his thigh. Puck smiled, invading Sam’s personal space with his flirtatious countenance. The moment may have continued, but the disruptive bang of Puck’s front door bursting open, only to shut once again, captured their attention.

Puck snaked his hand back. “Oh no,” he whimpered. “No, no, no, no.” Sam was surprised to see Puck reduced to such a state, cowering with consternation, trying to shrink below the window.

Sam was about to mollify Puck when he felt himself quieten in fear. Puck’s dad was staggering towards the vehicle, a paper-bag-wrapped bottle swinging threateningly in his hand.

“Please,” Puck begged, the panic and fear unable to be contained in his voice. “Just drive. He’ll – he’ll hurt me. He always does.” Sam froze, letting Puck’s words sink in. Even though he was drunk, his voice was earnest and credible. And his father’s countenance could not be mistaken for paternal discipline. It was much more suited to alcoholic abuse. Coupled with the profane insults he was screaming, there was enough vindication for Sam to release the handbrake and speed away. Puck’s Dad threw the bottle after them, but it only crashed onto the road, missing Sam’s car by meters. As soon as the raging man became one with the landscape through the rear view mirror, the boys breathed easy.

“I guess it’s to my house then,” Sam sighed, mentally mapping the route he had to take. He began to dwell in his thoughts as Puck entertained himself with the electric window, letting it rise and fall against his face. Great. Sam didn’t need this. Of course, he _wanted_ it, in some twisted sort, but he didn’t need it. He didn’t need a drunken flirtatious stud, ready and willing to be taken advantage of, arriving at his empty house. Sam wasn’t sure he could suppress his bubbling lust for the mohawked teen much longer. He had to focus on pure thoughts even now – somehow, most of Puck’s sex appeal managed to seep through his bruised and bloodied lineaments.

Sam still harboured a small amount of resentment towards Finn, for both destroying his coming out plans and padlocking him securely inside the closet. Yes, Sam was gay. And he had planned to let McKinley know, using Kurt and their proposed duet as the push he so dearly needed. He knew he wasn’t as brave as Kurt, but seeking some guidance and a perfectly tuned song could have helped Sam be true to he really was. Not romantically, of course. Sam had only thought of Kurt as a friend. Of course, they could have progressed into something more, but Finn had to wedge his foot in and mess with Kurt’s head, inadvertently fucking up Sam’s strategy in the process.

Sam cringed at the memory of Kurt breaking off the duet. It had been extremely frustrating. But he wasn’t frustrated at Kurt – his anger was directed at Finn, and how he can’t pass a Spanish test, yet is able to manipulate his step-brother with ill-placed subliminal homophobia. Kurt was made to believe he was using Sam, and the boy’s pride just wouldn’t have that. Sam scoffed. If only Kurt had realized it was reciprocal, and stood his ground with Finn, this affair probably wouldn’t have started.

So instead of Kurt, Sam winds up with Quinn. That was okay, but it was icing on the cake when he found out she used to date Finn, and that he still has intimate feelings for her. It was perfect – he would sway her just to piss him off. It may have been a bit cruel to Quinn, but he honestly didn’t think of that until it was too late to back out. He’d step up his game whenever Finn was within earshot; whispering sweet nothings into her ear in glee club, interlocking their fingers as they passed in the corridors, and sharing enthusiastic embraces at the end of football matches (particularly victories, which would result in a running hug, with a twirl and all). After all, they were both blonde, attractive, and talented singers. Ergo, it was meant to be. You know, if Sam wasn’t gay and all.

This mean that Sam was stuck with his attractive-but-not-to-him girlfriend and their relationship built on falsities. But he couldn’t bring himself to break up with her – she was the only thing contributing towards his straight persona. Sure, Sam accepted who he was in the least bit shameful, he just wasn’t strong enough to go through the steps alone. Not again. He needed someone – not Kurt, who contradicted his effeminate nature with his unrelenting pride – but someone who matched his position; another closeted teen. The problem with that, though, was that he was living in Lima, Ohio. Nevertheless, that couldn’t stop his foolish fantasies, which all started in him meeting a new friend in a moment of serendipity; reaching for the same piece of fruit at the greengrocers, both taking the same elevator alone, finding his attractive barista’s number on his coffee cup at the Lima Bean. You name it, he’d dreamt it. And while these fictions started separately, they would all come full circle, having their friendship evolve to the point where they’d find out their sexualities were one and the same. Next was the secret romance, riskily sought after by a hasty kiss in a backlit movie theatre, where it would progress until they had the courage to announce their relationship to the world.

It was the perfect platform for a fairy-tale, which made Sam regret ever dreaming it up. It was incredibly unlikely that it would ever happen, and he was fully aware of that, but no matter how hard he tried to forget the fantasy, he couldn’t. Even though it was nearly impossible, there was still the tiny shred of possibility that constantly tore at him, deceiving him into believing that something like that could still happen. And he believes it, still waiting, desperate for his fantasy to become reality.

 

It’s just that waiting hurts. Not know when the waiting will end pains Sam immensely. He can imagine himself waiting until he’s thirty, and by then it would probably be too late anyway. It started to rain, and Sam clicked on the windshield wipers as droplets hit the car. Puck was now exposing himself to the downpour every time he clicked the window down, but in his inebriated state he didn’t seem to notice or care. That was another thing Sam had to worry about: Puck. He had no other choice but to hide his feelings. Puck was straight, and there was plenty of evidence to support that, but Sam couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was flirting with him ever since they’d met.

_“How many tennis balls can you fit in your mouth?”_

Not to mention the more than platonic looks they shared during his first audition. And now he could add affection and brief hand holding to the list, but those were probably prompted by the alcohol. So far, Sam had managed to persist through the teasing torture that was Noah Puckerman. He focused on the spitting rain instead, gripping the steering wheel with so much force his knuckles were white. Right now he had to shove his feelings aside and convince himself he was doing this for a friend in need, not the object of his unrequited affections.

He'd been strong this whole time, not flushing when Puck had called him cute, not giggling when Puck locked their eyes, not shying away when Puck had grasped his hand, and certainly not mashing their faces together like his burning, bubbling lust was telling him to.

_Do it,_ something that was clearly not his conscious told him, _it’ll feel great, and he’s drunk. He won’t remember a thing. Hell, he’ll probably like it._

Sam locked his jaw in an effort to dissipate his thoughts. That was wrong – he couldn’t take advantage of a friend. Especially one in a state like Puck’s. He would just help out a friend, and then that would be the end of story. Sam concentrated more on the here and now as he pulled into his street. The rain had stopped, and apart from the squelching friction of Puck’s cheek against his window, the car ride was completely silent.

“We’re here,” Sam announced, pulling into the driveway. Puck’s attention was still occupied by the window, though, and he didn’t notice. Sam watched. It was amazing how the simple sliding of his face, then the jerk of lowering the window too far, was enough for him to laugh babyishly. The blonde shook away his thoughts as he turned off the engine. Puck stayed, leaning against the window expectantly, pushing into it harder when it didn’t move. Sam jumped out the car and walked around to the passenger door, opening it. He must have been concentrating too hard on thinking unsexy thoughts, or else he might have foreseen Puck tipping out the vehicle.

“The hell?” He said roughly as Puck fell on him. He hastily jabbed the seatbelt ejector, only for Puck to fall further, arms enclosing Sam in a hug. Sam quietly admitted to himself that he liked the feeling; being surrounded by a part of Puck everywhere. He was kind of glad Puck wasn’t in a rush to release his grip. Puck managed to get on his own feet, but had somehow maintained the hug, which was now awkwardly threaded through Sam’s arms. Blushing slightly, the blonde retracted himself from the embrace.

“I think there’s a first aid kit inside,” he blurted, trying to focus his attention on healing Puck a little. He motioned for his friend to follow him, but he staggered (in a way reminiscent of his father), and Sam had to place an arm over his shoulder and aide him up the front steps. He took fortifying breaths as Puck lightly massaged his shoulder for some godforsaken reason. He shuddered at the rubbing motion, willing for blood not to pool downwards. Puck’s hand slid down Sam as he obliviously looked for the house keys.

“It’s only me tonight,” Sam explained, still fishing for his keys, “the family’s gone to visit Tennes- haha, _hey!_ Stop it!” Sam giggled, pulling Puck’s hand away from under his ribs. The drunk teen was probing the area with a vivid curiosity, which gave Sam the oddest visceral feelings.

“Aw,” Puck drawled, “Sammy’s a li’l tickly.” He snaked his hand out from around Sam and placed it on his abs, pressing down. “And _sexy!_ ” he gasped, with more exclamation than needed.

Sam protested with a meek laugh (why the surprised tone?). The effort of keeping his smouldering emotions under control had him vibrating at Puck’s touch, but he was still determined to stand his ground. Besides, he could just jerk off later. “You’re a touchy drunk,” was all he could think of to reply. He grinned at Puck’s gazing smile. From his place resting against the wall, Puck watched as Sam unlocked the door. Sam could feel the gaze burning into him, and he cautiously turned, looking up to meet it. He did this partly out of hope Puck would withdraw on a reciprocated gaze, but also just to know how it felt to share a loving, intimate gaze, even for just the briefest of moments. Just so he could memorise the specks of green in hazel eyes, and learn the details from a more personal perspective, so his daydreams could have pinpricks from reality. Falling into a cliché stereotype, Sam lost himself in the moment, mouth slightly ajar, dragging the glance into a full blown gawk, which Puck ended by seductively raising his eyebrows. This allowed Sam to twitch and regain his senses, painfully aware of how head over heels he had been.

Even though it was thoroughly damaged, the amusement on Puck’s face was clear. Sam felt as if Puck had stared straight past his eyes and into his soul, the current silence suggesting that Puck had learnt his secrets and desire.

_Damn, he can pull moves, sober or not_ , Sam thought peevishly. This was only going to make things so much harder, in more ways than one. Sam walked ahead of Puck, leaving him to use the house walls for stability.

“In here,” Sam called, turning into the laundry. He opened the cabinet next to a hamper of dirty clothes to receive a first aid kit. Puck didn’t respond, but his puerile giggling was heard from two rooms over, and Sam knew what room he had found. He raced into his bedroom to find Puck admiring the posters on his wall.

“Hehehe,” Puck giggled, collapsing onto the bed. “They’re all –hic- blue people.”

“Shut up,” Sam retorted quickly, wasting no time in heaving Puck off the bed and pushing him into the laundry. He tried to hide the flush in his cheeks as Puck smiled lazily at his reduced legwork. “Sit here,” he ordered, pointing to the washing machine. Puck obeyed in silence, pouting at the change in tone. He kicked his legs nervously, fidgeting with his hands. Sam retrieved a face towel and soaked it in water, wiping Puck’s face clean of dirt and dry blood.

“I’d let you do this yourself, but you’d probably cause more harm than good,” he explained between scrubbing Puck’s face, which was begrudgingly scrunched. “Now, this may hurt a little,” Sam warned, dripping some antiseptic onto a different cloth. This time, he gingerly dabbed at the cuts, faltering when Puck hissed to cope with the pain. He felt Puck’s face tense as the last of the open wounds were coated, and sighed. “I still think the hospital is the best option,” Sam said brusquely. He had no clue why he wasn’t driving Puck there, whether he liked it or not, but for some reason the teen was intent to avoid the place at all costs.

“Nu-uh,” Puck replied, swinging his head left and right. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t.”

“Well, why not?”

Puck paused, and stopped kicking his legs. “Cause- cause these aren’t from m’ juvie buds,” he confessed. His eyes were glued to his now still feet.

“What?”

“Pa’s – Pa’s back again.”

“Again?” Sam pressed. He nearly felt guilty about persisting into Puck’s personal affairs, but the poor guy looked so alone – he was probably dying to confide in someone. Knowing Puck, his pride would have corked the bottle of his ‘feminine’ emotions, but that didn’t seem to be an issue in his intoxicated state. In fact, coherent with Sam’s prior premonition, he seemed almost relieved by it.

“He always comes back,” Puck revealed bitterly. “Once a month, -hic- at least. Dead drunk and ready to hand me a bashing – hic.” He looked up, pleading. “No one can find out. Please – _please_ don’t tell anyone, -hic- Sammy?” Puck forced prolonged eye contact again, and Sam could see nothing but complete honesty and a slight fear of judgement. It was the first set of sentences that wasn’t slurred (though it was still intermissioned by hiccups). Sam took it as a sign of sincerity. He gazed over Puck’s face once more. The wounds seemed worse now – not physically, but knowing that someone could to this to their own child would have made a lot more scars underneath skin. Sam’s relationship with his father was good, and he couldn’t possibly imagine how fractured it would have to get for him to be in Puck’s place. He swallowed heavily, not knowing his next move. Telling someone would help, indefinitely, but at what price for Puck? It was his objective to let it remain as his one pitiful secret.

“Sure, I won’t tell.” Sam smiled guardedly, exhaling through his nostrils. Their eyes were silently exchanging words, words of trust and understanding. And not of judgement, for which Puck was incredibly grateful for. There was another brief pause, and Puck relaxed, which Sam hadn’t seen him do at all that night. His shoulders shrunk, and he took a deep exhale. He was safe, and he knew that, and it allowed him to let his guard down a little.

Unfortunately for Sam, he mirrored the body movement a little too forwardly, and the second Puck noticed he jumped off the washing machine and darted out of the room with surprising agility.

“Shit,” Sam breathed, caught by surprise. His brain was clouded, still thinking about how he was just having a total moment with Puck.

_Come on,_ Sam thought to himself, his craving get the better of him. _You have to admit that wasn’t a look that friends give each other. It was the one potential lovers share while one cleans the others dirt-ridden wounds and the other shyly confesses domestic abuse._ His countenance deadpanned as he heard himself think. _Well now that didn’t seem desperate at all, did it?_ That was Sam’s common sense, logically tearing away Sam’s hope as he needed it to. _You’re also forgetting the idiot’s drunk and probably tried the same moves on every person he met before collapsing in the park. It would explain why the hell he’s here, of all places._ Sam’s subconscious stood on the offensive, firing insults to give Sam some thinking room.

_Don’t get upset, Sam, you know no good can come out of this._ Sam’s subconscious was quickly advancing through undertones: first angry and explanative, and now to pity, and it was working. _He’s a stud and sleeps with people as if his dick is gonna fall off the next day. Even if you did have a shot, it’s not like he’d keep you._ That was the final nail in the coffin, and Sam looked down miserably, knowing he was right. He had no chance with Puck. A drunken one night stand was not what he wanted: he had too much dignity for that.

Sam exhaled, all his hopes leaving with his breath. He walked out of the laundry and followed the sounds of heavy breathing to find Puck. He was still going to help the poor bloke – he was just going to detach all feeling so the pain would lessen. That sounded about right. The teen in question was in the living, sucking on a bottle of beer as if it was liquid gold. He was sitting on the sofa, legs sprawled invitingly. Despite the airtight lock his lips had around the neck of the bottle, Puck’s shirt was absolutely drenched in the fluid.

“God, will you _stop drinking_?” Sam asked in exasperation, angrily tearing the bottle away from Puck and sitting on the couch opposite him.

“But it _heeelps_ ,” he whined. Now that his hands were free, he seemed to notice his saturated top. “Eugh, -hic-, sticky,” he said to it.

Sam began to scold him, but was lost mid-sentence as Puck hoisted his shirt over his shoulder, dropping it beside him to rub his hands over his exposed chest. “You really shouldn’t drink… so… mu…” Sam’s jaw was left hanging as Puck failed to knead the stickiness from his chest.

“Tha’s betta,” Puck marvelled, not noticing Sam subtly cross his legs. “Why’s your mouth open?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, no-no reason,” Sam choked in reply, his cheeks flushed. “Where did you get the beer?”

“Fridge,” Puck replied smugly, raising his well-defined arms to rest behind his head. “I can sniff the stuff out from. –hic-, anywhere.”

“Uhhh…. You sure got a lot of it on your shirt.” Sam scratched the nape of his neck, unable to help but notice Puck’s torso was undamaged, looking fresh and undamaged in comparison to his face. Not that his face wasn’t attractive; Sam still wanted to jump the kid, bruises or no bruises.

“I –hic- dropped the first,” Puck revealed thickly, waving dismissively at a discarded beer bottle on the floor. It had left a pool on the rug, and Sam probably would have lost it if he was listening. But he was entranced by Puck’s appearance.

After careful consideration, Sam concluded that the cuts somehow made Puck look hotter. They were like war scars, proudly on display after battle. And, God, pool cleaning did great favours in giving his body one hell of a caramel tan. He looked so perfect, as if God himself had carved him from marble. Everything about Puck screamed stud: the firm Mohawk, the battle scars, the drinking, the body-

_How’s operation ‘No Emotion’ coming along?_ His thoughts blindsided him with a sneer. He had been lost in his thoughts again, staring absently at… _Puck’s nipple ring._ Great. That wasn’t suss at all, especially since Puck himself had noticed.

“Dude,” Puck said seriously. Sam licked his lips and gulped down a breath before nodded. Puck beckoned him to lean forward, and they craned closer to each other. Sam could feel Puck’s bated breath as he spoke with satisfaction. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” The serious tone was gone, catching Sam off guard. He opened and closed his mouth, like a fish, his wordless sounds of endless amusement to Puck. Sam could only wonder if the guy knew how much he was tempting him by sitting half naked and slightly sticky on his couch.

“You can touch it if you want,” Puck proposed drunkenly, biting his lip. He had his flirty eyes on, and his smile was mischievous. “Feels like _ice.”_ He hissed seductively, tugging on the ring itself. Sam struggled with his multiple twitches, and his legs were now crossed tighter than ever before. Sam’s attempts at controlling himself were a major turn on for Puck. He viewed it as a challenge – and he had no doubt he could win the boy over in the end. To urge the smouldering emotions into revealing themselves, to result in fierce, sweaty sex was pretty much all he wanted.

“Really?” Sam said hopefully, looking up before realizing what he was doing. He blinked owlishly. “Wait, _what?_ Um, no thanks.” He swore under his breath for being so foolish.

Puck ravished in watching, letting out a low, content sigh. He enjoyed this, for some reason. He had convinced himself he wasn’t doing anything immoral – after all, it was fairly obvious the blond wanted it. He was just trying extremely hard not to cave into his feelings for some reason. But he would in the end, because Puck wanted him to do just that.

“Do ya know wha’ would make me feel better?” Puck asked. Sam shrugged. “A song.” He leaned in the direction of the stereo in a disorderly fashion, smashing the buttons with his sticky fingers. Sam pulled a face as residue was left on the knob of the volume. “You should sing t’me, -hic-. It makes me feel good.” Puck relaxed back into his seat, batting his eyelashes as a song familiar to both of them permeated the atmosphere. As soon as Sam starting singing Puck jumped from his seat to be next to him, looking on with anticipation. Sam was painfully aware of the fixed gaze.

" _In this room of darkness I ain't undercover,_  
That won't stop my prowess rubbing off on to another.  
Elevating higher as my body's moving lower,  
Now I've reached my element you better move over, ohhh."

Sam hoped the last line would give Puck a clue, but he only interpreted it as a lyric, not a suggestion. Sam felt like he had no choice but to return the eye contact, and Puck’s eyes were searching without direction.

_But he doesn’t he blocks my way,_ ” Puck sang, nudging Sam with his shoulder. Sam allowed himself a giggle as he realized what Puck was doing. Acting out the lyrics. How cute. Somehow, the elevated blood to alcohol content had no effect on Puck’s pitch or voice. It was solidly professional, and Sam stared at Puck’s mouth, watching his lips shape the words. He continued singing from there, but with timely interjections from his duet partner.

" _I try to push past-"_

" _But he wants to play."_

" _So I sip his drink-"_

" _As I hold his gaze, ooh!"_ Puck raised a suggestive eyebrow, but Sam still didn’t get it. Exasperated, he pressed the stereo off with a balled fist. He had begun to sober up now, enough so he was able to speak without intermittent hiccups, but not enough to have a crisp lucidity. It was probably what helped him in the end.

“What’s your game, Evans?” he inquired. Sam jumped slightly at the direct address.

“Wha-?”

“I’ve been dropping hints all night. I know you want me. What are you so afraid of?”

Sam looked like a deer in headlights. He stared at his sneakers, spluttering nonsense as he picked at a thread on his jumper’s cuffs. He looked intensely distressed, and Puck was getting worried. He did the only thing that usually worked, and cupped Sam’s cheeks in his hands, bringing him in for a sloppy kiss. Sam’s berry flavoured Chap Stick flavoured the kiss more than Puck’s booze. Puck could feel how incredibly tense and stone Sam was being, so he soothed his thumbs into the boy’s cheeks. He relaxed a little, lips puckering but not opening.

“Relax, kid,” Puck said, breaking them apart. “I want you.” The look of abashed guilt on Sam’s face lessened the second time Puck leaned in. This time, Sam was edged on by unrestrained, lust fuelled thoughts. He returned with passion, smashing their lips together with hunger. Puck was taken aback only for a second, before grinning into the kiss and dragging his hands through Sam’s hair. He loved the roughness on both sides, something he had never experienced before. Sam opened him mouth, granting Puck’s tongue access through his luscious lips. Puck quickly withdrew, tugging Sam’s hair and licking up his neck. Sam moaned in appreciation, raking his hands along Puck’s back, relishing the contact of the firm muscles.

Puck’s tongue had traced the full circumference of Sam’s lips once more before he pulled back. “You want me too,” he teased, in between gravelly breaths.

“A little,” Sam admitted submissively. It was a bit hard to deny when his nails were digging at Puck’s lower back. All his prior hesitations quickly dissipated as Puck rubbed all the way up his thigh.

“Then come get me,” Puck ordered. And with that, Sam wasted no time in straddling the boy, pushing himself against Puck’s sticky chest, desperate for the contact he convinced himself he would never receive.


	2. The Aftermath

When Sam woke up the next morning, his joints were incredibly tired. It seemed that eight hours of sleep had actually drained him of energy, instead of restoring it. Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel the sunlight piercing into the room from a crack in the curtains. He kept his eyes shut, and waited for the motivation to move to ebb into his body. Sam dug his head back into what should have been his pillow – but it wasn’t. Instead of just opening his eyes, he was a slave to his languidity and gingerly prodded the surface with a heavy finger. It felt.. velvety. He sprawled his hand over it, kneading it with his fingers until he hit something cold. He drew his hand back, but quickly replaced it back over the object. It was… small and round. A ring? But it was missing an ear. Sam tugged it softly, triggering a moan from somewhere above him.

“God, I have _the_ biggest hangover,” Puck sighed. Sam’s eyes opened wide as he felt a calloused hand ruffle his hair. “But last night was still great.” He jolted upright, swallowing heavily. He was in his bed. With Puck. He slowly gazed down, realizing his top half was naked. He awkwardly pressed the sheets down around his waist - he was fairly confident he wasn’t wearing anything at all. Besides, the messy pile of clothing at the foot of his bed, which was too much for just one person, could have told him the same thing. His head shook frantically, but Puck was too smugly content to notice. Sam’s breathing quickened. He wasn’t – he didn’t – _holy fuck_ , he did.

But _how?_ He’d put up so many mental resistances that the actuality of being found in the same bed with Puck was embarrassing. But somehow, Sam had given in to Puck’s great sweet-talking, and if the blissful throbbing from his lowers was an indication to anything, it was indeed great.

“Did we… you know…?” Sam felt stupid for asking, because he was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he had too anyway. Maybe there’s an alternative explanation he wasn’t thinking of that could have also resulted in the two sleeping naked together.

“Did we have sex?” Puck asked lazily, scratching his stomach. “Yeah. Was great.” Despite Puck’s nonchalant answer, Sam’s pallor turned a few shades paler. “What’s wrong?” Puck asked, setting himself in an upright position against the headboard. Sam didn’t answer, dragging himself from the sheets and out of the bed, leaving the room without another word. He felt Pucks eyes burn into him as he did so, and his cheeks burned a fierce shade of red. At least now he could confirm he wasn’t wearing pants.

Sam walked into the shower, leaving his guest to his own devices. He adjusted the taps until they released a blissfully hot stream - temperate enough to wipe himself cleaning without giving third degree burns. Stepping under the downpour, Sam let the hot water drizzle down his face, the humidity doing nothing to lull his frustration. He didn’t know how Puck does it, but he has this way of creeping under his skin, breaking down every wall to leave Sam completely mesmerised. The end result? A one night stand – exactly the thing he didn’t want. Sam had an aptitude for getting things he didn’t want, and in this current moment Puck counted as one of those things.

But how would he continue on from here? With school, and with Quinn? This is still technically cheating, even if it was with another man. Somehow Sam would bet Quinn would be more offended to find out that he cheated on her with a man, than another Cheerio. But still, there was a lingering feeling that something else could evolve from a spontaneously night of sex.

_Don’t get your hopes up,_ Sam reminded himself. He cupped his hands, splashing the water that fell into them on his face. _Puck just wanted sex. Just like he did with everyone else… Did you forget he was straight again?_

But straight guys don’t sleep with other ‘straight’ guys. Even with all his prior lapses in logic Sam was pretty confident about this. Girls experimented in college, guys couldn’t even bump thighs while playing Halo without saying “no homo.” Still, what was he to do now? Puck was still in his house, and apparently enjoyed the events that conspired last night. He couldn’t just tell the kid to leave – he’d probably have his skull smashed in by his dad the second he got home. Plus, he did take kind of a beating last night, not to mention one hell of a hangover –

_Tap tap tap_

Sam jumped, nearly slipping on the shower floor as Puck’s knuckles rattled on the shower screen.

“You’ve been in there for a while,” he noted. “If you need any help, I’d be happy to give it.”

Sam’s stared at the shower screen owlishly. Water attacked his vision, but he could still make out Puck resting his forearm against the wall, inches from the screen. He was staring at frosted glass, as if trying to see past it with clarity. Puck’s sultry voice gave his words even more meaning, and Sam coughed, trying to hide his semi. It was stupid, considering Puck couldn’t _see_ him, but the screen could have been plain glass for all Puck’s proximity mattered. Just Puck being in the vicinity of naked Sam was enough to screw with Sam’s head.

“Oh, um… Could you just get me that towel there?” For some reason Sam didn’t want to offend, so he lacked blatancy and just turned off the taps. Drops of warm water stuck to his skin, some of which surely transferred onto Puck as he reached his hand in with a towel. “Thanks.” Sam grabbed it and swatted Puck’s hand out.

“No problem?” Puck said, not bothering to hide the confusion in his voice, leaving the bathroom with flatfooted steps.

Sam sighed in relief. He probably wanted shower sex or something. He quickly dried himself and fastened the towel around his waist. He saw a figure glide between rooms and hastily shut the bathroom door – he honestly didn’t care what room Puck was in as long as it wasn’t this one. Turning his attention to the mirror, he noticed the pepperings of discolour on his neck.

“Hickeys,” Sam whispered hoarsely. He scrubbed at them with the end of his towel, but that only seemed to make them contrast more. Not to mention sting. “Fuck.” He banged a fist on the sink in frustration, talking to the drain hole, wishing for nothing more than to just slide down it and live in the sewers. “First, he seduces me, gives me hickeys, and then looks for shower sex-!” Sam’s gaze rose back to his reflection. Puck wanted sex this morning. Puck wasn’t drunk this morning (just extremely hung-over).

He store at his reflection for so long that it started to change. It scowled. _Don’t get your hopes up, you fuckwit,_ it scolded. _He’d probably take shower sex from Finn if he had the chance. This doesn’t mean anything to him; it’s just mindless sex. He’s too stupid to see how much you want him, and if you let him know he’d just laugh and tell the world._

Sam ruminated on his thoughts for a while, the image of being labelled as “the Other Gay” infiltrating his vision more than he could will it away. He was almost drip-dried before he realized Puck was still in the house. He dashed into his room, changing into some pants. His hand reached for his Avatar shirt, draped across his clothes hanger, but he chose a plain white one from his closet out of embarrassment.

Before he could begin to think of where Puck could be snooping around, his ears pricked at the distant sound of spitting. Not the bodily function, but the cooking reaction. He walked guardedly into the kitchen. Puck was busying himself with a frying pan, shirtless. Sam couldn’t help but watch Puck’s muscles move under his skin - the way the small of his back stretched as he reached for the stovetop fan, the braille bumps his vertebrae created down the middle of his back.

Puck turned, lifting the frying pan to the kitchen table, which he had set with plates, already stacked with toast, and glasses of orange juice. He must have helped himself to the fridge. And the cupboards. Sam was torn from thinking about how Puck could have had no second thought about scouring his room the previous night and watched Puck divide rashers of bacon, mounds of scrambled eggs, and puddles of baked beans amongst the plates. He set the pan back on the stove, off, and motioned for Sam to join him at the table. It felt odd, considering Puck was _his_ guest, and it seemed the whole situation should have been reversed. Nevertheless, Sam awkwardly waddled over to the seat opposite Puck, staring down at this food with a grimace. He felt a sickly, bubbling feeling as he realized Puck expected him to eat the food. He could see the grease pooling off the bacon, making the bread soggy with fat. It nearly made him retch.

“It’s to say thanks,” Puck explained between mouthfuls. With each bite he looked like he was trying to defy the limitations of his mouth, so much so each swallow had to be downed with a glug of orange juice, just to stop him from choking. “For last night.”

Sam didn’t know whether he was referring to the sex or the general nursing. It didn’t affect his response. “No problem.” He smiled at his lap, not wanting to offend Puck, but definitely not wanting to ingest a plate of simple carbs and trans fats. He slowly picked up his fork and forced down his food. It was miraculous he didn’t gag, and every second bite he drank some orange juice, just to clear the taste of grease from his palate.

Puck furrowed his brow, noting an oddity. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… yeah I’m fine,” Sam replied before downing another glass.

Puck’s shoulders sank. Was something wrong? He had made breakfast special – albeit from all the Evan’s ingredients – and he hoped it would be enjoyed more vivaciously. It’s not like Puck sucked at cooking, he was as much of a stud in the kitchen as he was in the bedroom. He twirled a rasher of bacon around his fork as he watched Sam carefully place a forkful in his mouth, as if he was trying to avoid his lips. Sam made a weird face as he swallowed, drawing out a long breath as though he had eaten three servings – he had barely had half.

Puck put down his fork and knife with a clatter, finished. Sam was amazed he ate so quickly. Puck chewed what was left in his mouth loudly, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked accusingly.

“What?” Sam was slightly taken aback, his large lips forming a dishevelled frown.

“We have _amazing_ sex and now you won’t even look at me? What’s the deal?”

Sam blushed. “It’s nothing.”

“Liar,” Puck growled. His face softened with empathy. “Why are you acting like you don’t like me? We both know you do.”

“Because-”

“Are you scared of sex or something? You liked it last ni-“

“I’m not meant to get a crush of the school slut!” Sam yelled in retaliation, shaking with both unease and anger. He scrunched his eyes shut, willing himself to calm down. He looked at Puck, wincing at the inevitably of a sucker punch. Instead, Puck just stared beyond Sam, into space as his shoulders slowly sagged. His eyebrows slanted depressingly and as much as he tried to fight it, his mouth curled into a crushing frown. “Um- I’m so-” Sam forced himself to apologize. He didn’t expect a jock to be so wounded, but Puck stood abruptly, knocking his chair backwards.

He looked like wanted to say something, as if the second he would unzip his mouth everything would just burst out, but he fought and his mouth remained clamped. He looked up, once, registering Sam’s expression, matching it with his tone, and then he walked out the kitchen before Sam could do anything. Sam could have sworn he heard Puck’s breath catch as the front door opened and then closed with a soft bang.

Sam rushed to the door and ran outside, which didn’t coincide well with his greasy breakfast. Either way, Puck was already out of sight. With a guilty sigh Sam returned to the kitchen, picking up his plate and dumping its contents into the sink. His words were echoing in his head, each repetition making him feel more and more stupid for speaking. They were repeating, reverberating, and it made him ill to think he could say something so stupid.

He knew he was going to have high school crushes, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be on someone he had absolutely no chance with. For example, the jock who sleeps with a different girl every night. And what’s even more confusing is that Puck _did in fact_ sleep with him. And… it was fun… kind of. But Sam couldn’t take it. He wanted Puck, but he couldn’t swallow at the confusion that came with him.

Sam was scared, to put it bluntly. And even if Puck did want a relationship? That would be great, but his track record would put him in the most positive light. His track record of cheating and side flings would always leave Sam wondering if he was ever completely faithful. What if he did that? Sam couldn’t go through that.

Not again. He couldn’t be torn apart so abruptly like before. The mornings events brought upon Sam a whirlwind of memories he’d rather forget, further entrenching him in a determined mindset to live in solitude. It was also how he found himself in the bathroom, sticking a finger down his throat like so many times before, and retching and retching and retching until he was confident all of Puck’s grease was gone.

* * *

 

Puck walked fast down the stone footpath, paying careful attention to not trip over his own feet. He was hurt, and angry.

How could Sam have said that? Right in front of his face, too. Puck was never one to shy away from confrontation, but this time was different. It was Sam. That guy he liked. To see the smile leak from Sam’s eyes and his face split into an unrecognisable scowl was downright scary. Puck had no choice but to leave, or else he would have responded to Sam’s rare countenance with his rare tears. He left his shirt behind, the one that was tight in all the right places – but it’s not like that mattered anymore.

Where would Puck go now? If he was completely honest with himself, which he didn’t want to be, he was kind of hoping to stay with Sam for a little while, maybe form the basis of a bromance before he left. That worked out well. The option of returning home was risky – it was Sunday and he wasn’t sure if his Dad was still home. He tentatively prodded his healing wounds, nearly reopening the scab on his cheek. His house was not a home at the moment, but only for him. He was the only one who ever received this treatment. It was something he was oddly grateful for. Thinking of his mother and sister looking how he did, bloody and bruised, made him sick.

Even so, he couldn’t report the abuse. Though the mere thought of his father makes bubbles of acid react in his gut, his mother still manages to overlook his monstrous faults, pigeonholing his return as good enough of an act to hold him in feelings of great veneration. She actually wakes up every morning when he’s home, and when she sets the dinner table for four, she feels as though everything is finally back to normal. Her feelings mattered more to Puck than his own did. Even Sarah thinks he is an acceptable dad. What kind of son would he be if he took the final stab at his already wounded family?

He roamed the streets, trying to keep composed. He may have received a few berating stares, but not that it mattered – he needed a nice torso tan anyway. He lifted his arms to claw his skull. What was he to do with what just happened? He couldn’t get over the cold distance in Sam’s eyes. He wanted nothing more than for that look to be once more filled with warmth, but he couldn’t exactly turn back time. Maybe his reaction wasn’t the most logical approach, but hopefully it can be swept under the rug.

Puck took a deep breath, allowing a new train of thought to cloud his mind. _Damn fucking Evans,_ his brain seethed. _If anyone finds out about this my rep will be shot._

Puck wandered aimlessly down the street, on an endless route with no destination. That was until a black SUV pulled up along the curve next to him. Puck didn’t even turn around as the tinted window slid down.

“Noah!”

At the sound of his name, and a familiar voice, he turned on his heel to face Kurt looking concerned in the passenger seat. Blaine had a similar look, but it was less natural than Kurt’s, almost as if he was fighting the urge to look below Puck’s neck.

“Don’t call me Noah,” he said sternly, furrowing his brow. “It’s Puck.”

Kurt ignored the question, whereas Blaine nodded with trepidation. “What happened to your face?” He blurted, blushing when Kurt turned to face him with condescension.

When Kurt finally twisted back to Puck, letting his actions drag in hopes Blaine would recognize his own stupidity, he assessed the damage to Puck’s face with a cursory glance. “Are you okay? Do you need a ride?”

He seemed to have deemed the injury high enough for him to have to intervene. Puck opened his mouth to answer, catching on his thoughts. A ride? Where? To his own house to be bashed or to Sam’s for belittlement. He would prefer the streets. “…It’s okay,” he finally settled on. “I… don’t really have a place to go to right now.”

Both Kurt and Blaine’s expressions softened at that, and Puck felt a twinge of annoyance for being in a position to be pitied. There wasn’t much he could do about it though. “We’re going to mine, and you’re welcome as well,” Kurt said, snaking his arm behind his seat to open the back door. “Hop in.”

Puck gauged his options, but had already clambered into Blaine’s car before he had even finished. “Thanks,” he mumbled, closing the door and settling in his seat. The leather seats stuck to his back slightly, and he was suddenly incredibly aware that he hadn’t showered that morning. It wasn’t that he stunk; it’s just that it would be more reasons to be stared down. He tried to ignore the awkward atmosphere, so thick it was palpable, and waited for Blaine to start the car. When his ears weren’t met with the breathing of a locomotive, he looked at Blaine expectantly. He was met with a patient smile that made Blaine’s eyes crinkle. With a sigh, Puck buckled his seatbelt, ignoring how frozen it felt against his bare skin.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Blaine slated light-heartedly, as if he was talking to a child. He turned the car on and turned onto the road, attempting to fill in the silence he was met with. “So, um… would it be okay if we ask what happened to you? You seem a little upset.”

Puck crossed his arms, forcing his stare out the window to watch the scenery flash past him. “Nothing happened,” he said defensively. He crossed his arms. “Just the usual Saturday night for the Puckerman.”

“Your face is covered in bruises, and you’re half naked. That shouldn’t be a usual Saturday night for anyone,” Kurt chimed in. His voice was even, lower than usual. He didn’t turn when he spoke, so all Puck could see was the line of his jaw move with his words. “If you need to talk about it, we’ll gladly lend an ear. We’re not going to tell anyone. But if the matter is private, then we can just forget the subject.”

It was touching, Puck thought, how Kurt was able to offer support, even after all these years of constant bullying. To think the boy who he’d sent dumpster diving every school day could push away vengeful opportunities in light to help nearly made Puck regret ever being mean to the kid. It made him think about confessing, then and there, about everything that had happened between him and Sam. The sex, the feelings, the argument; the whole lot. Right now, the thought of popping the top on his bottled emotions was tempting, but the lingering premonition of judgement kept his mouth tight-lipped. He was a stud. A sudden eruption of feelings and homosexual encounters was not going to bide well with his image.

“Let’s… let’s not talk about,” Puck decided. He tried to still his quivering lip as the awkward silence returned to the car.

* * *

 

“Come inside,” Kurt instructed as he unlocked the front door. He held the door open for Puck, who walked in with a mumbled ‘thanks’. He could hear the buzz of a television a couple of rooms over, and waited for Kurt to overtake him before tailing. Kurt led him through the living room, where Burt was indeed fixed on ‘The Deadliest Catch’. Burt’s eyes flicked to his guests, returning his sight to the tv for a second before realizing Puck’s state with an intense stare.

“Um… Hello, Sir,” Puck answered. He was pretty sure, by the look Burt was giving him, that he was trying to match a name to a face. Perhaps it was difficult to tell he was who he was right now. He willed his blush to not spread to his chest. Burt’s disapproving frown at Puck was protested by Kurt, who raised a swift hand.

“Relax, Dad, nothing happened. I have to give him one of Finn’s shirts.”

Burt eyed Puck once more, sternly, before giving a grunt of dismissal and relaying his attention back to the tv. Kurt allowed himself to sashay seamlessly into Finn’s room, Puck following like a lost puppy behind him. When Puck entered the room, he found Kurt burrowing through Finn’s wardrobe, with no added care like you normally give when you are responsible for something that isn’t yours. It’s not like Finn cared for his clothes anyway.

“You know, I could just wear one of these,” Puck suggested, picking up one of the tank tops strewn across the floor.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “Ew no. You need something washed. Finn sweats.”

Puck flinched away from the top, surreptitiously wiping his hands on the edge of Finn’s bed.

“Put this on,” Kurt said, throwing a black button-up shirt behind his back. He talking into the wardrobe, so the shirt landed on the opposite side of the room.

Puck fetched it and dressed, squeezing his arms through the sleeves. “A little tight around the guns, but it’ll do,” he mused, nodding. He walked to the full-length mirror in the corner and surveyed his appearance (not taking into account his face). He ran a hand over the fabric, grinning. “This makes me look ripped! I’m totally keeping this.”

Kurt let out a high-pitched laugh as he closed the wardrobe door. “You’ll give the shirt back on Monday, and we won’t tell Finn about it. Now let’s go find Blaine.”

Puck hadn’t even noticed Blaine was gone, but he was patiently waiting in Kurt’s room, drumming his fingers along the bedside table. Hand supporting his chin, he looked up with a cautious smile as Kurt led Puck into the room, making room for them on the bed. Blaine and Kurt sat side by side, staring gently at Puck. Opposite them, Puck gave a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow.

"You guys aren't going to try and jump me, are you? I know this shirt makes me look toned, but rape is sick."

Kurt tilted the edges of his mouth upwards in appreciation of the joke, but levelled them shortly afterwards.

"Puck, we need to talk about something," Blaine said slowly. His constant eye contact and sincere expression made the atmosphere in the room stoop to a serious tone. "Your face is... covered in bruises and cuts-"

"And you were half naked on the street."

"-...Did something happen?"

Puck had to avert his eyes and stare pointedly at the fleece bed sheets; Blaine's stare was just too intense. Puck took a shuddering breath, torn between maintaining his badass aura and just giving in.

"If it helps," Kurt began earnestly, "a problem halved is a problem shared. All this crap I've taken for being me would have stung twice as hard without Mercedes or Dad to talk to-"

"It's Sam." Puck's nerves were tingling with each word Kurt pronounced, and by the end of the sentence he probably would have burst with smouldering secrets. So just casually blurting out ‘Sam’ is good in comparison.

"Sam did this to you?" Kurt asked, bewildered. Blaine’s ears pricked at the name, but he said nothing.

"What? No. This-" Puck pointed to his face "-This isn't the problem. The problem is Sam."

"What'd he do?"

"We had sex."

"Hot," Blaine breathed, before Kurt elbowed him in the ribs.

"Umm... you and Sam did what?"

"Sex. You know, man sex."

"Oh." Kurt flushed a deep crimson before continuing. "Are you guys... dating?"

"No, he still has Quinn or something," Puck said bitterly.

"So you just had a one night stand?"

"Something like that. But we really... I dunno, I thought we connected." Puck sighed

"That's one way to put it," Blaine interjected coyly.

Puck ran his hand down his face, hoping the friction would relieve his embarrassment. All it did was make his cuts sting.

"Ow, shit!" he growled, gritting his teeth. "I just made all this crap up in my head, didn't I? He even said that he loved me straight after and I went and believed him and..."

Kurt kept a steady smile plastered on his face all through Puck's rambling, quietly exchanging words with Blaine.

"Oh my God. Puck's blubbering. What do we do?" Only Blaine's eyes turned to try and see Kurt, but he still heard perfectly.

"Just be sympathetic, sweetie. This can't be easy." Kurt whispered back, nodding absentmindedly towards Puck.

"...and I couldn't say anything back because he was right and then I left and then now I'm here what do I do now?" Puck finished, breathing heavily. Puck looked pleadingly at Kurt, who was at a lost (perhaps he shouldn't have blanked out halfway through Puck and his confessions).

“Well, if I’m any good at dating-” Blaine surmised.

“Which you aren’t,” Kurt dutifully reminded him.

“-Then I’d think Sam likes you. Probably a lot. But I think he’s scared of being hurt. He’s scared that the next day you’ll have someone else wrapped around your arm and he’ll be a joke. Show him you care and then he’ll stop being so guarded.” Blaine spoke with such sincerity that Kurt turned to face him in surprise.

“That’s not like you at all, with good advice,” Kurt praised, impressed. “Especially since you haven’t even met Sam.”

Blaine laughed uneasily, shifting in his spot. “I have some good stuff from time to time.”

Puck sat silently for a moment, deep in thought. All he had to do was to stay faithful... really? That's easy. If you think about it, it's not like anyone can rival Sam on the hot scale: he has everything: the cute nerd persona, the body, the lips, and the  _ass._ Shuddering, Puck shuffled his hands underneath his legs. In hindsight the plan  _was_  easy, but the starting steps would be the hardest, especially after that little kitchen encounter. But the Puckerman wasn't an amateur at wooing people. A flirty song dedicated to [insert target here], some freshly picked flowers, and to top it off, a sexy wink and a pick-up line or two was enough to get one night in bed.

"Just remember Puck, Sam wants to be wooed, but he wants to be loved; he isn't just another girl. He's most likely looking for a relationship. Not just casual sex, or random hook-ups."

_Shit._ "...The Puck-miester is going to have to pull out the stocks for this one then," he said, scratching the nape of his neck. "I've managed to make the ladies swoon, but never a guy... well, not intentionally, anyway." Puck sniggered confidently, flicking a piece of lint off his shoulder.

"...I'm pretty sure you'll get him in the end," Kurt reassured with a tight smile. There was something about that, paired with the devious glint in Kurt's eye, that made Puck wonder about the meddling thoughts occupying Kurt’s brain.

Puck glanced at the clock on the wall and grunted. “Fuck, it’s already three!” He turned back to face Kurt and Blaine, stretching his face into a sincere smile. It was such a rare occurrence that it looked weird on Puck’s face, and the receiving couple were nearly confused. "Ummm... thanks, guys. I actually feel a whole lot better now. And I haven't grown a vagina either, so that's a plus."

"No problem," Kurt scoffed.

"Anytime you need to talk, just give us a ring," Blaine said earnestly. Looking from Blaine to Kurt, Puck saw the similar expressions of understanding and consideration emanating from both. He smiled, beside himself, as stood up from the bed. He didn't even know them that well, and they sacrificed their whole Sunday afternoon just so he could talk to someone. And boy had it helped; not only did it help him plot his next moves, it was also kind of therapeutic. It made him feel fuzzy, as if he was telling someone his deepest secrets, but it was okay because they'd never tell a soul.

"Oh, wait, Puck," Blaine said suddenly, jumping up just as Puck was reaching the door.

"Yeah?" He asked casually, leaning on the doorknob.

"What was the sex like?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. Puck could tell from the glimmer in his eyes and the vastness of his smile that Blaine had wanted to ask this for a while. God, that Blaine was such a closet-slut.

Leaving Kurt's room with a satisfied smirk, Puck left the two gaping teenagers in his wake.

"Well," Kurt said, astonished, and fanning himself with his hand, "He certainly doesn't skimp on the details."

Blaine pouted, "Why can't  _we_  do that?"

"Oh, shut up." Kurt scolded, immune to Blaine's dapper puppy-dog moping. "We need to find a way to get those two together. The prospect of bringing another two men from my school together will definitely quieten the haters. There's always more strength in numbers."

"Yeah, and Sam and Puck would make a hot couple."

"Agreed." They waved their fingertips along each others, grinning mischievously. "Plus, they want it too, we just need to... give them a push."

"But how we do that?"

"Honey, just leave that to me," Kurt replied, the glint in his eyes resurfacing again.

" _Awww,_  who's my sardonic little matchmaker," Blaine teased, leaning in for an Eskimo kiss.

"And who's physically a virgin yet mentally a whore," Kurt retorted, swiping noses once before doubling over in laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> The song used was Katy B - Katy on a Mission


End file.
